Reflections on Reality
by Duchess69
Summary: Holmes returns from a trip to find a disgruntled Watson awaiting his arrival. When faced with old demons, literally and figuratively, Holmes shows his true colors. Will the detective be able to cope with the recent changes in his life? *T FOR GLADSTONE*


**Reflections on Reality**

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Spoilers for_ A Game of Shadows_

**Disclaimer: **I clearly don't own Sherlock Holmes.

**Author's Notes:**

Hi all. This is the first story we have ever posted to the internet, but it's certainly not the first we have written.

It started out as an experimental role-play (our first), but ended up escalating into a full-fledged fic! How exciting!

Any sort of guidance/ feedback you could give upon finishing the story would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you and enjoy~

o.."-.*.-"..o

Sherlock Holmes opened the door to his apartment and was greeted with silence, as he expected after being gone for so long. He dropped his luggage and examined his newly tanned form in the large mirror placed in the corner of his room. He knew it would come in handy at some point. Just as Holmes was about to drop his trousers, his eyes focused on a familiar face reflected in the darkness. And it wasn't his own.

"That color suits you," Watson drawled from the corner of the room. His eyes were worn, as proved by the reflection. He was worried. "Here," he arose from the armchair he was lounging in and slowly crossed the room to meet his old friend, "let me help you with that."

"GAH-" Sherlock dodged Watson's outstretched paws. "I see that you've been rather lonely since I've been away," a twisted half-smile, "taking that into consideration, I'll give you the _abridged _version of my travels".

With a patronizing wink and a sarcastic twitch of the lips, Sherlock sauntered over to his couch, where he flopped down and made himself comfortable.

"Oh, the great Sherlock Holmes, ever quick to make assumptions" Watson spat, without turning. He looked past his reflection, to Holmes.

"You know that you drive me absolutely mad sometimes.." he trailed, muttering under his breath.

_Holmes- _always with the wit, with the charm.

_Holmes- _always behaving like he was superior to every person he came in contact with.

Sometimes it became dreadfully tiring to be friends with someone who always behaved as if they had no faults.

"Oh dear, why on earth are you glaring at me in such a hideous fashion, Watson? Just-," Sherlock huffed, "just get over here already. I have much to tell you".

Watson spun on his heel to face his reclining friend. "Just look at you! Strutting around the place like a proud cock!" Sherlock cringed at the comparison, which didn't go unnoticed by Watson, who cleared his throat loudly. "Well, still. You have no right to act so proud." He moved to the edge of Holmes' sofa, looking quite flustered, his hands bolted to his hips. "And, for God's sake, put your shirt back on!"

"WHAT HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU?" Sherlock exclaimed. Something was obviously amiss. He actually found himself perplexed by Watson's strange behavior, and he certainly didn't like the strange glint in Watson's eyes. Perhaps, if he prodded Watson a bit more, he could find the source of his violent outburst...

"What if someone lets themselves in, hm? What then, Holmes? They will see you there, THERE- draped about the sofa with your trousers undone and- and your bare chest, and that obscene _pout_!" Sherlock frowned. "YES- that one!" The frustrated doctor made manic gestures with his hands. _Dear God,_ his shirt felt tight. _Or was it his skin?  
><em>

That was it.

Sherlock was done with Watson's crap.

"Dear, DEAR Watson," Sherlock breathed through clenched teeth, "you will sit down across from me and you will LISTEN to my vacation stories."

Holmes gently pushed the enraged doctor onto the armchair across from the couch. The detective sunk into the cushions of his previous seat and steepled his fingers, reading the unspoken thoughts lying just beneath Watson's carefully set expression.

"And- John- If I so please, I will stand in my apartment as naked as I was the day I was born, thank you very much."

Watson's shoulders stooped in surrender. He sighed, swiping his hand across his face, as if clearing a thought. "Fine. FINE. Go on. Get on with it. You are obviously so EAGER to tell." He leaned back in the armchair, regarding Holmes with mock interest.

"That's no way to treat a friend that has been gone for 3 long months," Sherlock threw Watson an exaggerated frown, complete with puppy-dog eyes and deep brow wrinkles angled up toward the heavens. With the solemnity of a preacher condemning his parishioners to a fiery afterlife, Holmes delivered Watson another provoking blow.

"Although you've been both bratty and insolent, I think I can still find it in my heart to share some of the more exciting aspects of my trek along the Mediterranean".

Watson turned his head to the side as a short, loud cackle tore from his throat. "Oh, you know me, Holmes. I spend my days alone, _dying_ for your return. Now, I am still unaware of the reason why you HAVE NOT YET STARTED YOUR STORY!" His frustration was genuine as he stewed. "Go on, Holmes! Tell me about your traipses with simple minded gamblers and loose women. I'm just _dying _to know what you've been up to all these months- what trouble you've caused."

Holmes was disturbed by the turn this conversation was taking, and he couldn't help but to bust a crack in his carefully constructed facade of removed calm.

"Well- my dearest friend- you didn't seem too concerned about missing me earlier, what with planning to leave for your honeymoon TWO DAYS BEFORE I LEFT FOR MY TRIP." Holmes was willing to overlook this detail upon his return, however, that decision had been made before Watson had so rudely accused him of being selfish. "You didn't even say goodbye to me before you left, yet you claim to be_ dying _for my return?" Before he knew it, Sherlock was consumed with rage.

"You think you have the right to be concerned with my 'traipses with loose women'? Look at yourself, Watson! You've been married for nearly 2 years, yet you're presently sitting in my apartment, clearly still reeling from the rejection you've just faced at the hands of your former lover- currently friend. Do you realize that you are a _married man_? Do you understand that?"

Watson looked dumbfounded.

"Oh, you don't? That's odd, because _I_ certainly do." Sherlock shook his head, running shaking hands through brown hair. "Honestly."

Sherlock bowed his head it solemnly, attempting to mask the pure, unbidden emotion playing across his features. "You accuse me of not caring, John, but _you_ abandoned _me_."

Watson went pale. He visibly floundered as he stood. Holmes was always talking him into corners. He scrambled for the proper words.

"Well, you were just _standing _there- in front of the mirror- and I was just _sitting_ there… and you just- looked like you were in need of assistance. With your trousers." Watson crossed his arms, trying to regain his composure. He squirmed under Holmes' knowing gaze. "I thought you saw me sitting there- it looked like an invitation to me- but, of course, who else but the great Sherlock Holmes would stand naked in a living room, disrobing himself in a mirror?"

Watson turned toward Holmes' littered desk. _Why did Sherlock have to bring up Mary? _

"I don't know anyone quite like you, Holmes."

Sherlock gave a mournful grin, matching the one playing across his best friend's face. "I know you don't mean to act this way and," Sherlock sighed, "I know that it can be hard to get along with a person like me." This last part came out quickly, as if Holmes couldn't quite admit that he was a human being, much less a human being with true emotion. However, John Watson was the one person on the planet that made being human worth it to the great detective. As the two moved to hug each other in an uncommon display of shared affection, loud footsteps echoed through the otherwise silent floor.

Holmes turned his face towards the stairs. "That blasted Mrs. Hudson, always meddling.." Holmes turned back to Watson to find a horrified look creeping onto the doctor's face. "Watson, whatever are you-". Holmes followed Watson's terrified stare to the foot of the steps, where the most unexpected scene was beginning to pan out.

o.."-.*.-"..o

There, in the doorway, stood a certain supposedly deceased evil genius. Sherlock's face crumpled. Professor Moriarty stood smugly, Gladstone in hand, holding a revolver and pointing straight at the two gentlemen. Holmes tried his best to mask his shock, but Watson had a bit more difficulty remaining calm.

"Good god, Holmes!" The doctor whispered after he inched to Holmes' side. "He's got a gun. Holmes, he has got- GLADSTONE!"

"Interesting observation, dear Watson," Holmes hissed snidely, "and all this time, I thought _I_ was the detective." Holmes spun to face the wicked Professor.

"There's no use involving someone of his status," he added loudly. "Why don't you just let him leave? The two of us can finish where we left off."

The three men stood there in a sick parody of a reunion.

While awaiting the inevitable response to his proposal, Holmes was busy searching for an escape.

"I believe we've discussed that before, Mr. Holmes," Moriarty directed his response at Watson, "the answer is _no_."

Watson cursed under his breath while the gears in Holmes' mind whirred.

Logic. Logic was the only solution- the only way out of this impossible predicament. If he could somehow coordinate a simultaneous attack by both himself and Watson, they might be able to overtake Moriarty.

"Don't try anything sudden, boys," Moriarty sneered, "if you make a move, the dog gets it." To prove his point, Moriarty pressed the barrel of the revolver to Gladstone's head. The dog whimpered, causing Watson to shake. It was almost imperceptible, the shiver, but Holmes was in such close proximity to the doctor that he could just feel it.

And, suddenly, an idea formed.

A quick movement.

His body pressed close to Watson's.

A brush of the lips.

Three finger pressed firmly to Watson's thigh.

A quick, almost imperceptible whisper.

_On my signal  
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Holmes launched into his plan, sealing the deal with a kiss.

Moriarty was taken aback, but only for a moment. "OKAY, GET DOWN. ON YOUR KNEES!" He gestured with jerking motions, pointing to the floor with the barrel of his gun. "Go on!" Watson and Holmes dropped simultaneous to the ground.

The Professor managed to press his pointer and thumb to the bridge of his nose, precariously balancing Gladstone and the gun.

"I... I wasn't expecting anything quite like this..." he mumbled, more to himself than to his captive audience. Holmes and Watson waited with baited breath. Moriarty switched his focus back to them. "Again."

Watson turned to Holmes, eyes wide in shock, expecting to see his own surprise mirrored on that of his friend's. Holmes, however, was looking levelly at Moriarty.

"I'm not sure I understand your meaning, Professor. What is it you want?" Moriarty narrowed his already beady eyes.

"You damn well understood what I said. Kiss him, again!" Holmes faced Watson, trying to read his emotion. He turned back to Moriarty.

"What if I refuse?" Now he was just being difficult. Moriarty responded by tugging Gladstone tighter, eliciting a whine from the animal.

"I've already killed Mrs. Hudson, what makes you think I won't kill the dog? What makes you think I won't kill your dear Dr. Watson?" Once again, Holmes turned to Watson, as if asking for permission.

"Well," Watson made a small gesture with his head, speaking loudly enough for Moriarty to hear, "I suppose we have no choice but to give in to this maniac's perverse demands..."

To Sherlock's surprise, Watson leaned in first. The brush of Watson's moustache against his skin sent a shiver through his body, but it wasn't quite the same as it was before- before Mary- before Watson was married. Sherlock was snapped out of his murky thoughts by the healthy amount of tongue Watson had added to their passionate kiss. Much to his chagrin, Sherlock found it impossible to reciprocate the doctor's intense emotion.

_The plan_. Once again, Holmes had been saved by reason. The detective slid his hands down Watson's back, until one came to rest just below his right buttock. He discreetly pressed his pointer, middle, and ring fingers into Watson's thigh in quick succession.

The two sprang into action, rushing the distracted professor. Moriarty was prepared for the pair's assault, but failed to recognize another factor, which skewed his calculations. He dropped Gladstone in his effort to accurately aim at the oncoming threat, leaving him open to another, unanticipated attack. The dog bounced off the floor and swiftly sunk his teeth into the calf of his captor. Blood stained the professor's pant leg as he jerked backward in a rare display of genuine surprise. The bullet missed its intended targets and lodged itself harmlessly in the wall as Holmes and Watson tackled Moriarty to the ground. Watson managed to wrestle the gun away from the professor as Holmes bound him with his suspenders. The pair hoisted Moriarty off the floor and threw him onto the couch. His expression had changed from incredulous to one of deep, dark hatred.

Holmes regarded the red haired devil with disgust, ready to ask the question that had been plaguing him since he saw Moriarty standing in the doorway.

"How did you escape Reichenbach Falls?"

Moriarty laughed sharply, "I could ask you that very same question, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes shuddered. His decision to die that night still weighed very heavily on his conscience. The guilty man let his eyes slide towards Watson. They held a brief, silent conversation.

_I had to do it. There was no other way._

_It's alright-_

_If I had not taken him down at that moment, he would've come for you instead. You couldn't have helped me without getting hurt. I'm sor-_

_I know._

Sherlock could almost hear the responses in the eyes of his dearest friend. In that very moment, he felt as if he had received absolution.

Holmes faced his enemy with renewed vigor. "Tell me, Moriarty. Tell me how you escaped."

Grudgingly, he answered, "Due to the high altitude at Reichenbach, I had a personal air supply device especially crafted for me, so that I could start the war in comfort." Moriarty smirked cruelly. "I couldn't know how very useful it would prove until we were tumbling off the balcony together."

Holmes eyebrows shot up. The professor continued.

"I streamlined my body in time to enter the water rather cleanly. Once I was under, I pulled on my oxygen device and swam to the nearest bank I found. Since then, I've been searching for you."

"You're _insane_!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Every word of that was a lie- that was how _I_ survived the fall!" The distressed detective looked to his friend for validation, but became even more perturbed by the clear lack of focus in Watson's eyes.

"Watson? Do you hear me?" Sherlock waved his hand frantically in front of his comrade's face, ignoring Moriarty. He was met with no response and began to shake the inert doctor. The faint odor of dogs began to cloud Holmes' senses, the confusion causing him to become frustrated. He was aware of the faint sound of laughter behind him. Was it Moriarty? He couldn't quite tell, which only served to anger him further.

Suddenly, Watson came to, but his eyes were still blank. Sherlock's face fell in disappointment. "Are you alright, old boy?" Watson's eyes filled with the dull, primal joy of an animal as he jolted forward abruptly. Before Holmes could block the advance, Watson was on top of him, kissing him roughly on the lips. On normal circumstance (or, more accurately, under normal of the not-so-distant past), Holmes would've been overjoyed by the onslaught of affection. The true, sober reality was that Holmes felt a slight emptiness at Watson's touch.

Watson's lips migrated from his mouth to his nose. From there, he could feel Watson's tongue grating against the skin of his forehead, then his cheek. His face was covered in saliva and, quite frankly, he was disturbed. Was it just his imagination, or was Watson a bit hairier than he had remembered?

o.."-.*.-"..o

When tongue met eyeball, Sherlock jolted awake with a gasp. Judging by the ache in his back and the presence of dog slobber on his face, he appeared to have fallen asleep on the ground. He caught the reflection of a small furry tail scuttling away from his person in his overlarge mirror, before he looked up to find Watson chuckling at his compromised state.

"Good to see you, Holmes. I didn't even hear you arrive."

Holmes sat up, running his finger through his hair. "Well, you always were one for being observant…"

Watson pursed his lips at the sarcastic jibe, but couldn't suppress his grin. "It really is good to see you again," Watson extended his hand to Homes, "although I must confess that I'm a bit hurt that you neglected to send me any letters. For all I know, you could've died."

A meaningful look passed between the two as Holmes accepted his hand and was lifted from the floor. He knew the true meaning behind Watson's words. _For all I know, you could've died again.  
><em>

The two stood in front of the mirror, amidst Holmes' forgotten luggage. The silence looming over them felt like it had a physical weight about it. Sherlock broke the silence.

"Why didn't you stay long enough to say goodbye, John? Surely Mary would have been willing to postpone your honeymoon just a little bit longer.."

"It had already been postponed several times before. I just didn't have the heart to do it again.."

In that instant, Sherlock Holmes felt a sudden rush of guilt color his cheeks. It was because of him that their honeymoon had been postponed in the first place, yet he had expected Watson to do it again on his behalf. Holmes had to face the one fact that he had been trying to ignore: Watson was married, and he no longer belonged to him.

Somewhat aware that Watson was still spewing apologies, Holmes pressed a finger to his friend's lips.

"It's my fault."

Watson's look of surprise was positively ridiculous.

"I've been selfish. You had every right to leave when you did. In fact, it was I who should have said goodbye to you," Sherlock seemed winded after the brief outpouring, "I know that you now have responsibilities as a husband and I'm sorry to have stood in the way of your happiness."

Watson searched Holmes' face for sarcasm, but found nothing but genuine earnestness. He beamed at his best friend and wrapped his arms tightly around his middle. Before letting him go, he buried his face in the crook of his neck.

"There will always be an important place for you in my life, Sherlock. Nothing can change that." Several moments elapsed and the two parted.

"Maybe after you clean up a bit, we could go out for breakfast."

"After all of the emotional distress you put me through?"

Watson scoffed. "You seem to have healed enough to be back to your old, sarcastic self."

"Well, I am rather hungry. I suppose I have little choice but to accept your invitation."

The detective could barely suppress a grin as he left Watson to get ready for their date.

The best friends sat across from each other at the booth. The sun streaking through the window illuminated the two while casting deep shadows on the rest of the restaurant. They finished their meal in companionable silence, unspoken conversation lingering in the air around them.

"So, Watson, would you like to hear about my trip?"

o.."-.*.-"..o


End file.
